Need vs Want
by Fanwoman
Summary: A companion piece to "Want vs Need," this explores the end of "Mommy's Bosses" from Marco's perspective. Oneshot. DianaMarco


SPOILERS: through the end of season two

NOTES: After doing Diana's take on the evening we Diana/Marco fans were so happy about, how could I not explore Marco's take on it? Thank you, PurpleYin, for the beta.

DISCLAIMER: _The 4400_ and all things associated with it belong to other people.

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NEED VS WANT

Marco was confused.

To say he'd been surprised by Diana's invitation to dinner might have been an understatement. Considering all she'd recently been through--nearly losing her daughter to a mysterious illness, uncovering a huge government conspiracy, facing the suspicious death of a man she'd apparently been interested in--it seemed rather odd for her to suddenly worry about organizing a minor social event, especially given she'd previously mentioned it only in jest...not that the possibility of saying "no" ever entered his mind.

So here he was, a few minutes before three, chafing under the amused gaze of the doorman to Diana's building. "No laptop," he observed drily.

It was not unusual for Marco bring a computer and bag of food to Diana's, but by not commenting on the flowers, the older man only drew further attention to them.

"Not today." He smiled but was too nervous to do a good job of it.

"I'll just give her a buzz."

"Thanks."

There was a momentary hiss followed by a tinny, "Is Marco here?"

That she asked that, instead of the typical "Yes?" was just a small example of her general tendency to not beat around the bush. If only the same could be said of their relationship. He had become her personal and professional confidant, produced false documents to get her out of trouble, helped her break into a government facility, opened classified files for her and delivered top secret materials to civilians on her behalf. He'd be lying if he said he'd done it all purely out of the desire to do what was right. Even so, what else could he do to express his worth and dedication? But more important than his willingness to ignore the rules for her was his ability to make her smile. Grandma Pacella always emphasized how important humor was to a relationship. But despite all that, Diana had never moved past their flirtatious banter, and she did not appreciate having decisions forced upon her. After all, like him, she lived in her head and was not impulsive by nature. That's why he had some small hope this evening might mean something. This was no whim; she'd put thought into it. And not only was it a major deviation from their established norms, it was an intentional deviation of Diana's choosing...not that he needed it to be more than what it seemed on the surface--a dinner for a friend. Much as he might want tonight to be personally significant, he'd waited a long time for Diana to appreciate the potential between them; he could wait a while longer.

"Yes, Ms. Skouris." Although the doorman was wearing a big grin, his voice was perfectly professional.

"Please send him up, Alberto."

Marco was waved past with a, "Good luck."

In the elevator, he took deep slow breaths and firmly reminded himself that this would be a dinner for _three_. It was meant to be an evening celebrating Maia's return to health and their success at coming through the most difficult crisis any of them had faced. Holding on to that feeling of well being, of the satisfaction of having contributed to that success, he calmed himself as he walked down the hall to her door. The daily paper was on the floor in front of it, so he shifted the flowers to the same arm as the bag of gelato then bent to pick it up. Slipping the newspaper behind the gelato, he reached out to knock, but the door opened before he had a chance.

He was greeted with one of her big, happy, eye-squinting smiles. "There you are."

Just standing there, she took his breath away. Her hair was down, suggesting she was feeling comfortable and casual. But she was wearing makeup and a dress. It was the first time he'd ever seen her in a dress, let alone a formfitting little black one that exposed lots of skin. How could such a dress ever be casual? His palms began to sweat as his traitorous mind conjured thoughts of touching her, imagining what it would be like to feel her skin beneath his fingers. Forcing his gaze away from its examination of the graceful curve of her clavicle, he glanced down to find, on the ends of her long, bare legs, were a pair of slipper-like flats. He hadn't seen her toes before, and for some reason this, more than any other exposed bit of her, made his heart race. How many people got to see Diana's toes? The sensory overload caused his right brain to run riot, and it took almost all of his willpower not to lean in and kiss her right then and there.

"You look..." he hesitated, having to put effort into redirecting his train of thought, "a lot more relaxed." She did, and it pleased him. The stresses of work had been weighing her down for too long. "It's good to have all this over, huh?"

"Yeah." Her eyes scanned his face for a moment, as was their tendency, then settled on the flowers. "Come in. I'm just getting started."

Glancing past her, he smiled at her definition of "just getting started." The table was already set, complete with unlit candles, and he could just make out a bottle of wine opened to breathe on the kitchen counter.

"You didn't have to bring flowers." Despite the observation, her gaze was on his shirt.

He hadn't been sure what to wear. She'd said to dress up a little, something different from work, so he'd gone with his newest shirt. It was made of silk, and the pattern was too bold to ever wear to the Theory Room. The contrasting colors drew the eye, and he couldn't help but want to get as much of her attention as possible.

"Well, I...figured there were three good reasons for some." He ticked them off on his free hand. "They wouldn't let people in quarantine have anything, so they're belated get well flowers; any celebration is more festive with some, and we have every reason to celebrate; plus, you should always bring something extra for your hostess." They were Gerber daisies, which were elegant but didn't carry the romantic implications of roses or other flowers. Of course, the ones he'd chosen were bright red. The combination of subdued blossoms in a passionate color seemed only fair, now that he was experiencing the mixed messages her appearance was sending him.

Tilting her head, she gave him a calculating look. "You've really thought this through."

Unsure what she meant, he answered honestly. "Not as much as you might think."

That made her laugh. "Here," she held out her hands for the flowers, "let's get those in some water."

It might have been his imagination, but it seemed her fingers lingered on his longer than was necessary. That thought was soon forced from his head as she turned around and he got a look at the other side of her dress. It exposed an enchanting expanse of creamy back and snugly hugged her every curve. He could swear his heart skipped a couple of beats, but there was no doubt he temporarily forgot to breathe. She was almost to the kitchen when he found himself gulping for air.

With a concerted effort, his intellect reasserted itself, and he managed to get his legs to function properly. Following her, he found the island in the kitchen covered with food--brie and crackers, vegetables and dip, the makings of salad, even a glass of wine that seemed to be set out just for him. So he put the pints of gelato into the freezer, bag and all, while she filled a vase with water. Spotting a box of popsicles next to the icecube dispenser, he realized he hadn't seen Maia, yet.

"Let me know what you think of the wine."

Turning around, he smoothly stepped out of her way as she returned to the dining room with the vase. It was then he realized she was walking differently, presumably because of her shoes. Instead of her normal confident stride, she kind of waddled. Naturally, he found it adorable. "So...where's Maia?" There were three place settings, three bowls for salad.

"In her room. She hasn't gotten ready, yet."

Taking a sip of the wine, he watched her through the opening between the kitchen and dining room as she set the flowers in the center of the table then began lighting candles. "She's feeling okay." He figured Diana would have canceled if Maia wasn't up to company.

"She's still tired and isn't over that awful rash, but she's doing much better."

It may have been Diana's invitation, but he didn't feel completely comfortable visiting so soon, with Maia still recovering. "You really didn't have to do this, you know."

"Actually..." She set the lighter down. "I really think I needed to." There was a determined, almost dutiful tone to her voice. Was making dinner for him a duty, or was she just determined to succeed in cooking a multi-course meal from scratch?

He dropped the paper on the one spare bit of the island between them and sat himself on a stool. "Huh."

Returning to the sink, she picked up a wine glass and a towel. "Huh, what?" Although she glanced up at him, she didn't stop rubbing the spots from the glass.

Swiveling restlessly on his stool, he did his best to sound nonchalant. "You're supposed to say, 'I _wanted_ to.'" It was meant to be teasing, but he would dearly love to know if any part of her feelings for him included even a fraction of the desire he felt for her. Yet, to ask such a thing directly was not a risk he was willing to take. He would rather play this game with her and continue hoping than possibly end it by forcing her hand.

"Oh." She set down her glass and tossed the dish towel aside with a hint of exasperation. "Yeah," she muttered unenthusiastically as she shuffled across the kitchen, glancing over the food on the table between them. Stopping squarely in front of him, she finally met his gaze. It was difficult to read, an odd mix of amused, annoyed and patronizing. Reaching out, she grasped his head in her hands, tilting his glasses up with her thumbs. Some part of him reveled--she'd never touched him like that, possessively, as though he was hers to manipulate as she saw fit. She shook her head slightly. "Don't push your luck."

With a hint of a smug smile, she leaned forward, lips parted, half-closed eyes focused on his mouth. At that moment, his rational mind suggested she was going to kiss him, and his jaw fell open in surprise. Then her lips were on his, the force of the gesture pushing his head back sightly despite her secure grip. He responded automatically, his lips tenderly embracing her lower one, but it took a heartbeat before he fully grasped the situation. That was when his eyes snapped shut, his psyche took over from his intellect, and he lived the moment solely through his senses.

_Cool, firm lips. Warming. Testing. Curious. Questioning. Show her. Answering. Worshiping. Reaching. Pulling away... No! Don't! Ah! Yes. Again. Touching. Ticklish curls. Soft, warm cheek. Smooth, warmer neck. Head tilting. Lips encouraging. Wanting. Wanting this. Wanting me! Quickening pulse. Hers. Mine. Ours. Heaven. Lingering. Pulling. Pulling away. Close. Lips brushing. Smiling. At me. At this. At us. Warm breath. Wine. Our breath. My glasses. Letting go. Moving away. Look. There she goes._

She didn't say anything as she walked back to the other side of the kitchen. That was fine by him because he was so undone by her kiss that he wasn't quite sure he was capable of processing sound, let alone speech. His gaze wandered away from her in an attempt to help him regain some composure, but his sight was the least of his worries. His whole body felt more alive, hyper-sensitized, as though the only purpose of his being was to respond to her. His lips were so over-stimulated that he had to reach up and touch them to remind them they were his.

Diana had kissed him!

A small part of him wanted to crow about it, to laugh and shout, but, instead, he cherished the moment, holding it close inside, slowly storing it away as his mental faculties gradually came back online. If she wanted to discuss what had just happened, she would, not that he was sure he could speak just yet. Until then, there was no point in talking about it. But he couldn't keep himself from voicing a small expression of his awe and wonder. After all, what else was there to say?

"Whoa..."


End file.
